


If I Loved You Less

by MakeItMagnificent



Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: Drama, First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeItMagnificent/pseuds/MakeItMagnificent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we just have to say what's in our hearts ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Loved You Less

'I was speaking to Romey earlier.'

'How is everyone? Did they get that new TV? Did they say anything about Alex's leg? Oooh, and did Alfie enjoy his new lego?'

'Fine. Yes. It's still attached. And he _loves_ it.' Stuart replied, answering all Vince's questions. He smiled. It was the same smile which even after fifteen years, still made Vince's heart flutter. The two men were a few weeks into their American trip, taking a little diversion (or not so little they discovered, what with the size of the country) to the coastal city of Miami. They were enjoying their evening meal at their ever-so-swanky hotel as Stuart continued.

'They want another baby.' 

'Ooooooooh!' said Vince, eyes wide, then, starting to laugh, 'You'll have to go back to that clinic ...'

Stuart shook his head remembering last time's fiasco, when he'd decided he didn't want to take in his own gay porn to use instead of the clinic's sorry selection of straight stuff, but attempted to slip in a real life help mate, causing confusion for the staff (and embarrassment for Romey) as they tried to insist that the other fella should have his own cubicle and his own sample pot ...

The waitress came to their table with the main course. Smiling at them, she noticed their matching bracelets. 'Special anniversary?' she asked.

Stuart scowled. Vince quirked his mouth and shook his head.

'Every one thinks we're boyfriends,' said Vince, smiling gamely as the waitress left their table. The taxi driver had thought so when Vince had said 'my friend' as did the receptionist, judging by the bright smile as Stuart booked the biggest and best room, the honeymoon suite.

Stuart snorted rudely.

'It's not that bad!' exclaimed Vince, half thinking this was a conversation he really didn't want to start up again. He'd much rather talk babies and sperm pots. But there was always a part of him that hoped Stuart's opinion would be different this time.

Stuart snorted again. 'Cameron was boyfriend material, and look at _him_ , all practical presents and _magnificent_ sex, though how an accountant can be magnifi -.'

'Who told you about the sex?'

'Alex told me about the sex,' said Stuart, rolling his eyes.

Vince gaped. They'd nearly finished their second bottle of wine and he felt his good humour dissipating and a frustrated anger rising. He didn't want Stuart to know it was magnificent. Then again he didn't want him to know if it was rubbish. Perhaps he just wanted him to think it was middling accountant sort of sex, the 'this is adequate for now until I have sex with you' sort of sex. Glaring at Stuart he said, 'Why do you think it was fucking magnificent?' 

Stuart shrugged. 'Big dick,' he said, his lip curling with contempt.

'It wasn't his big dick.' Seeing Stuart's raised eyebrows, Vince continued, 'He didn't have a big dick. Well, it was okay, but it wasn't that. It wasn't _him_.'

The two men stared at each other and seeing Stuart's humourless, questioning look, Vince leant forward over the table and took a deep breath.

'It was you. I thought about you during sex. I think about you when I have a wank. I imagine it's your hand on my dick.' Words spoken in truth with a covering show of sarcasm for Stuart's benefit. In case he was horrified. To spare himself a little. Vince carried on, the words spilling out just loud enough for other diners to start looking their way. 'I imagine it's your dick up my arse. I imagine it's your hands I'm pressing to the bed.' He was starting to feel crazy and elated, 'and I imagine it's your fucking arse I'm pounding.' Vince's chin jutted as he scowled at Stuart. 'And _I'm_ not afraid to say.'

Stuart blinked, his face warm and his mouth dropping open.

Recovering a little, he said, 'It took you 15 fucking years to say.'

Tears stung Vince eyes and he was sure his face was starting to burn. He knew his words had sounded more honest than he'd intended. And his damn face could never hide anything. He threw his napkin down, scraped back his chair, stalked from the dining room and was gone.

**********

Stuart stared at Vince's retreating form. He studied the mess of their half finished dinner and Vince's discarded napkin slowly absorbing gravy from his plate. His head was a mess of doubt and confusion. The whole evening was surreal; relaxed, talking babies, to Vince saying all those ... words. He knew that Vince was saying what was in his heart; the sarcasm hadn't hidden his real feelings which were, as ever, written all over his face. Stuart chewed on his lower lip. His mind began to sift and sort all those vague wandering thoughts he'd never have articulated out loud. He knew Vince fancied him; he hadn't been sexually active for twenty years not to know when someone wanted him. Deep down he'd never had a real problem with the idea of having sex with Vince. He wasn't blind. When he had a wank and an image of Vince popped unbidden into his head, it never put him off. Not that he'd ever say anything about _that_.

He knew what being a boyfriend to Vince would mean. He'd always known. He also knew that when Phil had said he would only shag Vince when he was old, he knew that old didn't mean old, but that if he and Vince ever did get together, his old life, other men, those fleeting liasions in random toilets of the world would be a thing of the past. Because they loved each other and no matter what Vince would say, other men would be heartbreak for him.

There was a quote from, and God alone knows how he remembered this, one of Jane Austen's novels that he'd studied at University - _If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more_. Stuart rubbed at his damp forehead. Releasing a juddering sigh, he stood up and grabbed his jacket. Throwing some dollars on the table, ignoring the stares of his fellow diners, he swiftly followed after his friend.

He knew where he would be. Their hotel faced the beach and it was beautiful beach, stretching for mile after mile; the wide expanse of sand on which he found himself, often to his bemusement, walking with Vince. Sometimes holding hands, often talking shit.

 

Vince gazed without interest at the sun slipping away beneath the horizon. Warm air was cool on his hot cheeks. He was trying to make decisions, any decisions - he had to get away, he was just making a fool of himself, all his adult life, being ridiculous, wishing for things that were never going to happen. But the thought of leaving Stuart and not being in his life, made his eyes fill ...

'Vince.'

Vince swung round. He started shaking his head.

'No. Damn you. No more.'

A short distance between them and Stuart came to a halt. 

'Just fuck off, Stuart. Just ... leave me alone.' Vince spoke quietly. He sniffed. Stuart ignored him and moved closer.

'Vince ...'

'Fuck OFF!' Turning, he bolted further down the beach. Stuart threw his jacket down and broke into a run after him.

He soon caught up with him and grabbing Vince's flailing arms, he flung him round. The two men glared at each other, panting hot breaths into each other's faces. Vince struggled, breaking out of his grip but just as quickly, Stuart caught his wrists again. The soft sand beneath their feet unsteadied Vince and he fell to his knees with Stuart sinking down to join him. In the warm glow from the sun's rays, still peeking over the horizon, the two men stared at each other. Breathing heavily, Vince saw Stuart's eyes slip to his open mouth. Wobbling on their knees, Stuart slowly leant towards him, tipping his head and taking Vince's mouth in a kiss, a brush of lips. Dazed, Vince found himself responding.

Suddenly Vince, remembering the fact he was meant to be angry, tried to pull away and stand. But Stuart held on, his arms sliding around Vince's back. Stuart gently guided him backwards until Vince lay pinned to the ground by Stuart's body, square on top of him.

Being in this position, here, on the beach, the warmth of the day lingering in the soft breeze blowing around them, this felt right, felt good, felt perfect to Stuart.

Trapped beneath him, Vince felt the cooling sand seeping through his suit, competing with the heat of the body pressed close on top of him. Stuart stroked Vince's cheek and bent to kiss him once more. Eliminating the enticing idea of a knee to the groin, Vince started to respond. The two men kissed deeper, their lips twisting and sliding over the other's. When Vince opened his mouth for breath, the pace slowed and Stuart slid his tongue into Vince's mouth, his tongue circling and playing in a way that made Vince's whole body ache.

They finally pulled apart and ignoring Vince's continuing glare, Stuart rubbed his hips against his. He smirked.

'Oooh Vince, hard-on! Do you remember that time on the hospital roof?' Stuart's words were crude in contrast to his soft kisses.

'Yes Stuart, I have a hard-on,' growled Vince. 'And no Stuart, I did not have a hard-on on the hospital roof, my trousers were stiff, the material had been starch-'

Stuart barked with laughter. Vince's glare deepened as he tried to push him off.

'Help me up,' he said.

The two men finally staggered to their feet. Stuart took Vince's hand and after picking up his jacket, they made their way back across the sand. The beach was in darkness now with the promenade ahead of them blinding with dazzling multi-coloured lights. Stuart and Vince were both silent, each lost in their own private jumble of thoughts. The mix of damp clothes and thoughts of Stuart's kisses left Vince shivering in the balmy dusk evening. With Stuart still gripping Vince's hand, they were soon walking through the hotel lobby, ignoring the curious stares of fellow guests wondering at their dishevelled clothing.

Back in their room, Stuart dropped Vince's hand. He moved around the room, turning on the small table lamps dotted about, bathing the large room in warm, cosy light. Switching the last lamp on, he paused, staring at the painting on the wall. He turned and with eyes dark and unreadable, he faced Vince. Then he looked away.

'Stuart?' said Vince, unsure of his mood. He moved closer to him, standing just feet away.

'How can you trust me?' Stuart paused, staring down at the floor. 'What I do, where I go, who I'm with ... every night.'

Vince lifted Stuart's chin. He didn't flinch at the words, but smiled.

Stuart stared back. He studied those bright blue eyes, his forehead glistening under the lights and that beautiful sand-smeared face with hair sticking up in crazy damp tufts. It was a face that trusted him.

'That's up to you,' Vince said. 'But do you think it's easy for other people?' His voice was warm. 'Do you think other people don't worry about temptation? About how hot that guy would be? Would he be a good shag, a better shag, the best shag ever? What if? It's all 'what if?''

'And that's why nothing ever lasts. How can it? It always fucks up.'

'What do you think it's all about, Stuart? Cupids aiming arrows at your heart, skipping hand in hand across a meadow, walking off together into the sunset like you're in some video for a bad love song? People just keep _having a go_ until ... the day they die.'

'Sounds fucking depressing.'

Vince stepped closer to Stuart, their faces inches apart.

His voice was low in Stuart's ear. 'What do you think it's like having sex with someone who actually cares, who really gives a fuck about what you like? Who knows _exactly_ how to make you see stars?'

Stuart stared at him. For the second time that night his face felt warm. He smiled and glanced at the floor. Then, looking up, there was a sly twinkle in his eye.

'And how long have you been thinking dirty thoughts about me?'

'Oooh, years and years,' Vince answered, enjoying the rare sight of Stuart blushing. 'I have it all worked out ...'

'But if I fuck this up, Vincent Tyler, you realise I'm going to blame _you_.' Stuart replied.

Vince kissed him softly. Summoning all the courage he never thought existed within him, he slipped Stuart's expensively tailored jacket off and for the second time that night, it was tossed away, without care. Stuart grinned and raised an eyebrow. Vince carried on, carefully undoing Stuart's tiny exquisite shirt buttons before tugging the whole thing out of his trousers. He didn't take it off but left it hanging open, leaving the purple shirt as a picture frame to Stuart's body. Vince allowed himself a small smile at how he managed to think of these things. Gripping Stuart's arms and leaning forward, he kissed Stuart's throat, inhaling deeply that familiar Stuart smell of shower gel and aftershave and pure undefinable Stuart, relishing that scent in a way he never would've thought possible. Tingling with excitement, he licked along his throat and slowly up his neck, Stuart's quiet moans thrilling him. He took his time, kissing him, nuzzling him, before suckling hard, leaving his mark. Stuart leant his head back, exposing his neck further as his moans turned to whimpers. He groaned loudly as Vince's hand slipped down and stroked him through his trousers.

'Oooh, Stuart. Hard-on!' Vince whispered in Stuart's ear.

'Fuck you Vince Tyler,' Stuart gasped.

'You most certainly will. But first ...'

He walked Stuart backwards and pushed him down onto the bed. Leaning back, Stuart stared up at him through dark lashes and tousled hair. Vince's breathing hitched as he looked down into those dark, simmering eyes, realising he now understood the meaning of drowning in the depth of someone's gaze. He sank to his knees and after yanking open Stuart's trousers, he dragged them off him as fast as he could get shoes untied and removed. Stuart didn't help as he squirmed about and tried to touch Vince. He had helped though by not wearing any underwear ...

After the intial rush of cold air on his hot skin, Stuart propped himself up on his elbows, watching as Vince took him inside, filling his mouth. He whimpered at the wet heat, at the feel of his tongue sliding over his cock, at the suction. He loved hearing the murmurs of appreciation coming from Vince. He pushed his hips up with a plea for more. Vince glanced up at Stuart as he worked on him and it was almost too much for Stuart to see this confident, sexy man, his friend, in control and driving him faster and faster to the edge.

After a moment, Vince pulled away and scrambled up to kiss Stuart. Stuart's arms opened and he wrapped himself around Vince with hands in his hair. Vince gazed down at the man beneath him, all his sexual fantasies made glorious breathing flesh. The feel of this body, its warmth, its weight, how it moved - it was all so much more than he had ever dreamt of.

The two men kissed, unable to get enough. After a frustrating minute, during which Vince had a struggle with his own trousers and shirt, they finally lay bare skin to bare skin with Vince craddled within the grip of Stuart's open thighs. They rubbed and slipped against each other as they kissed, their bodies aching and demanding release. They struggled to find a rhythm in their desperation. But it didn't matter; within a few short minutes a sharp, powerful orgasm held, gripped and ripped through them both. 

'What was that?' laughed Stuart as they struggled to find their breaths again. Vince slid off him.

'Oh my God, it's been ages since I've come that quick!' Vince said, without a trace of embarrassment. He rolled over and rested his head on Stuart's chest, luxuriating in its damp warmth and the sound of his racing heart.

Five minutes passed as the two men lay dozing.

'About Romey, yeah and having a baby?' Stuart then began. Vince frowned in surprise, not imagining this would be Stuart's post sex conversation.

'They did ask me, y'know, to be the father, like before.'

Vince listened sleepily as he ran his hand slowly over Stuart's chest. He relished the sensation of just being here, so close to him.

'But I said it should be you.'

Vince froze and his hand stilled. He leant up on one elbow and looked down at Stuart.

'What did you say?'

Stuart smiled, a small, proud smile. 'I said I thought it should be you,' he repeated. 'I thought you'd like it, there's no reason why you can't is there, Hazel would love it and Romey actually thought it was a good idea.'

Stuart was gabbling. He never gabbled.

'Stuart. Are you sure? But why? I love Alfie as my own son, I'd see another baby as ours not just yours. I don't have to have my own.'

'I know that, Vince, I know all that. But ... ' Stuart couldn't explain why he wanted Vince to do it any more than he could explain why the Universe existed. He just knew it was something for Vince, Vince's child, something they'd share, like they shared Alfie.

'We'd be like a family, as sort of equals you and me,' he finished simply. 'What d'you think?'

There was a pause as Stuart gazed up at Vince and Vince stared back, his face slowly breaking into a wide smile.

'Stuart, I would love to.' Vince's voice cracked on the last word and he did something he hadn't done for years in front of Stuart. His eyes filled for the second time that day, his face crumpled and he couldn't manage, for the life of him, to stop the tears from coming.

'What the fuck,' said Stuart, grinning broadly. He pulled him back down and the two men lay, contemplating the astonishing events of the evening, in a happy mess of Vince's tears, spunk and damp sand.

'Of course, the kid won't have my looks. Or brains. But you can't -'

Vince growled, rolling over on top of Stuart, taking his mouth, anything to stop him talking. Not realising how close they were to the end of the bed, the two men teetered on the edge before crashing inelegantly to the floor.

 

In the days that followed, the two men couldn't keep their hands of each other. Stuart found himself flat on his back on the coffee table - what had been on the coffee table roughly shoved to the floor. His shirt open, his trousers down and his legs spread and Stuart was putty in Vince's hands. If he had any thinking ability left, he would've said that glass topped coffee tables were a sexual no-no, the edge sticking into his back and its surface, hard and uncompromising. But any thoughts he had were centred on the man whose tongue was teasingly licking at the head of his cock and whose finger, inside him, was deftly driving him to distraction.

Vince discovered a passion for outdoor sex, particularly being fucked on their balcony. It was hard and fast or perhaps slower and more leisurely, according to whatever Stuart fancied that day. Vince wasn't complaining. Their corner room meant that their balcony couldn't be viewed by others, though Vince had a suspicion that Stuart wouldn't mind being spied upon, sexually speaking, anyway. Often, what was being planned for him had been fully explained to him by Stuart earlier and now, pushed face down over the small plastic table, Vince moaned with total loss of control as Stuart began to follow through. His trousers yanked down and his legs spread, Vince always gasped with shock as the cold air hit his arse. Stuart would always take his time, slow drawn-out time, to prepare Vince. He would make sure he was relaxed and stretched. Perhaps he would use lubricated fingers to slide into him, searching and finding his spot which would lead Vince to desperately push his arse out, demanding more. Or perhaps Stuart would use his tongue, on his knees behind him, tenderly licking around and in his hole. It was so fantastically good that Vince had to fight hard to stop himself from holding himself open and lewdly begging for more. Knowing Stuart was on his knees, doing this to him and for him, turned him on almost as much as the physical act. And when Stuart was actually inside, the fucking was always over so soon, a fact that would be embarrassing with other partners, but as they both did it? They just needed more practise ...

Two months later, sitting one evening (a Saturday night!), watching some crap TV, Stuart glanced at Vince as he prattled on about fuck knows what. He smiled to himself. This boyfriend thing actually seemed to be working. He looked at other men of course, oh yes. He danced close, way too close sometimes, as Vince pointed out with a knowing smile. They had arguments. They got in each other's way in the mornings and Stuart, devoid of any discernible communication skills, his 'Fuck off out of my way' was met with a splendidly robust 'Piss off' from Vince.

Vince had surprised him. He stood up for himself. Perhaps he felt they were on an equal footing now as if they hadn't always been that way. Often all the swearing coming from Vince had him wondering if he was living with Hazel. But he loved every minute. His heart seemed fit to bursting these days, all those cupids (cupids! He'd got that off Vince ... ) dancing the light fandango and blue skies with fluffy clouds and rainbows and .... and all that shit. And all because of this man, his best friend, sat talking _Doctor Who_ next to him. Of course, these were _always_ things he would never say ...

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. John Milton coined "the light fantastick" to describe dancing in 1632; the phrase became common coinage before being mangled, via the Spanish courtship waltz the fandango, into Procol Harum's "the light fandango".  
> 2\. The scene on the beach is taken from The Thorn Birds, the 1980's TV drama with Richard Chamberlain (swoon!) The romance between Meggie and catholic priest, Ralph, just swelled and melted my poor young thirteen year old heart! So I used our boys as a small tribute to that wonderful show. If you've ever seen it you may recognise this scene; if you've never seen it I recommend you to watch it. ♥  
> 3\. A big thankyou as ever to QDS for her lovely comments and all the pulling me up on the stupid and oft repeated mistakes. :D xx


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